Gary Fincke The Munchkin Suicide

I thought I could dissolve in rain;
I thought the house my parents built
Could collapse and crush us all.
The small, they thought, could not be sad,
But there he swings, just after
Dorothy turns her back on us
To follow the yellow brick road.

See there? A soundstage, yet the leaves
Rustle up from his body strung up
And suspended. Don't believe
In those stories of emus, storks,
And peacocks, how any of them
Could be that munchkin in a tree.

Secretly cut down, that munchkin
Was "really most sincerely dead."
What do we make of flutterings
In the calm-day trees behind us?
It's the broken hearted who haunt
The leaves. The rest dance away
Like a girl in new red shoes.

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